


what the hell would i be without you

by hanzios



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, bunker boyfriends, just jackson and miller being soft as all heck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: 5 times Jackson saved Miller’s life + 1 time Miller returned the favori. the arkii. after mount weatheriii. becca's mansioniv. the bunkerv. desert tent+1. farmhouse
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	what the hell would i be without you

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've written for this fandom after binge watching all of the seasons in a week. i hope i did them justice. :)
> 
> [title is from 'sick of losing soulmates' by dodie]

**i. the ark**

Life on the Ark was never ideal. Most people just dealt with it.

Spending time on the Medical Bay, however, was another story. With an array of patients coming and going, the weak bustle of the sick, and the clear lack of medical practitioners, suffice to say it was emotionally draining having to spend most hours in the crammed place.

Jackson had no choice, though. He was training to become a doctor under the entire Ark’s (and, in extension, the entire human race’s) best chief medical officer, Dr. Abby Griffin, who had taken him under her wing since he was a teenager. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had much to do outside Medical. Between being sucked into a tornado of patients every day and sleeping, he had nowhere else to go. He’s given up on making relationships outside his inner circle, preferring to keep to himself.

His mother always said his shyness held him back.

But Jackson didn’t see it like that. He had Abby and Jake and, although she was a few years younger than him, Clarke was the only friend he needed. All of his energy was entirely directed to his one goal, and that was enough for him.

Tonight wasn’t a particularly crowded night. Thankfully, he’d only attended to one woman with stomach problems after Abby had finished her shift. Usually, she’d work overtime and well through the night, but Jackson insisted. It took him a couple good minutes of persuasion and assurance that the Med Bay was in good hands before she reluctantly took off to her quarters.

The room was silent, save for the constant humming of the space station’s engines. Jackson sat at the doctor’s chair, falling in love with the soft cushions and the cluttered desk in front of him. It made him giddy – being able to pretend, even for just a second, that he’d reached his lifelong dream and was finally one of _them._

God knows how hard he’s worked. It was only a matter of months.

He decided to go through patients’ records, always the organized one of the few apprentices. Jackson had managed to go through the Alpha Station files when he heard the sound of glasses clinking through an open door. His eyes snapped to the space leading to the storage room, and he cautiously stood up from his chair.

With narrowed eyes, he rushed inside, scanning the small room filled with aisles of medicine and equipment.

“Hello?” he called out, slowly walking through the aisles. For a split second he regretted ever taking the night shift alone, stories of doctors getting killed by thieves suddenly flashing in his brain. Jackson tried to look for a weapon, but found none.

As soon as he rounded a corner, a body suddenly slammed into his, pinning him to the metallic wall, his heading bumping on the surface. A hand clasped over his mouth before he could scream for help. His heart beat ferociously as he stared at the large brown eyes of the culprit, wondering if he himself would become another unfortunate story.

“ _Shh_ ,” the boy – he couldn’t have been older than 18 – whispered, not releasing Jackson from his grip. “I don’t wanna hurt you, man. Just… just stay quiet.”

Jackson nodded, because what else could he do? Even if the criminal threatening him was a kid, he didn’t stand a chance. He couldn’t fight to save his life.

His eyes flickered to the rough hand on his shoulder, vials of ibuprofen in-between the boy’s fingers. Then he turned his attention back to the brown eyes in front of him.

“My boyfriend’s mother is sick,” the boy immediately explained, slowly loosening his grip on Jackson. “They’re out of rationed medicine, thanks to your new policies.”

The hand on his mouth had already been removed, and he’s no longer being harshly pressed against the cold wall, but Jackson’s adrenaline was still racing. Before he could think, he blurted out, “What are her symptoms?”

The face that met his contorted to confusion and hesitation, but that only lasted for a brief moment. He adjusted the beanie on top of his head before shakily explaining, “She’s burning up. And she’s been having stomach pains and headaches for a week now. B–Bryan said she wouldn’t even eat her rations.”

Jackson racked his brain, thinking loudly as he tried to reach a diagnosis. The boy just watched him carefully, one eyebrow rising. When he tried to step away, an arm stopped him. Sharply, he turned to the boy. “Do you want my help or not?”

There was a moment of reluctance in his face before he was let go. Jackson immediately searched through the freezers, hands ghosting over vials of medicine. A part of him knew he would get in trouble if anybody found out he helped the unauthorized usage of an antibiotic, but another part of him didn’t care. _This_ was his calling. _This_ is what he’d wanted to do his whole life; what he wanted to do for his own _mother._

Finally, he found a small bottle of Ciprofloxacin at the top shelf. With a victorious smile, he turned to the boy and held out the drug. “Give her one pill before meal, and come back to me after three days. If her situation doesn’t change, I’ll probably have to check on her myself.”

“Huh,” the corner of the boy’s lips quirked up in a smirk, eyeing the medicine in his hand. “Who do I have to thank for this?”

“My name’s Jackson.”

“Well, thanks, doc.”

“I mean, I’m not a doctor yet, but–“

The boy flashed him that smile again. “ _Thank you._ I owe you one.” He pocketed the bottle, his free hand landing on Jackson’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly. Before Jackson could say anything else, he had already turned around and walked away, leaving the young apprentice breathing heavily at the storage room.

Two days later, a couple guards came over the Med Bay with the antibiotics in hand. Jackson felt as if he was about to pass out when they asked Abby if they knew the pills were stolen. He could only hide behind her as she answered their interrogations, listening in as the guards dropped the fact that the thief had been caught by his own father.

Six months later, Jackson had been told that the Council was sending a hundred juvenile delinquents to the ground. He could only wonder if the brown-eyed boy was one of them.

**ii. after mount weather**

His trip back to Earth was less than comfortable. Jackson had spent the entire travel time gripping his comfort pillow and hoping he’d get to live through it. Even as circuits started blowing up and the violent shaking never seemed to end, he never lost faith in being able to walk through his _real_ home – the soft brown soil and the plethora of tall, green trees.

Once the trembling had stopped and the station fell still, he briefly wondered if he’d already died. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

As soon as his station reunited with the rest of the Ark survivors, it was back to work, and somehow, conditions on Earth had been worse than conditions on space. Granted, they were fighting off an army of Grounders who wanted to kill them, and the delinquents they’d sent to the ground were as stubborn as they were brave. But still, the work was overwhelming, and if he was lucky, Jackson could get to sleep around three hours a day.

Through all that, he’d seen his fair share of gruesome wounds and miraculous recoveries, but that all paled in comparison to what he saw when Abby and the rest came back from Mount Weather. The stories themselves haunted him – how their bone marrow was being sucked out of them so the Mountain Men could live – but seeing the patients up close was jarring.

Abby looked awful, but she insisted she was okay, telling Jackson to look after the other patients instead. He let himself be persuaded. Besides, Clarke had been with her mother throughout the duration of her recovery, and that was enough.

When the rest of the victims got wheeled into the makeshift tent they called Medical, Jackson’s eyes instantly zeroed in on the familiar figure lying on one of the stretchers.

“Sergeant Miller,” he acknowledged the uniformed man standing in front of the familiar face. “Mind if I take a look at him?”

The man nodded, giving his son a squeeze on the hand before exiting the tent. Jackson watched him go before turning back to his patient, a smirk already plastered on the younger Miller’s face. He’d aged, Jackson can tell, and it wasn’t just the beard.

“Hey,” Jackson said.

“So we meet again,” came the reply.

“Mind if I take a look?” he gestured towards him. And when the other nodded, he guided him towards his side. Slowly, Jackson lifted up his shirt, revealing big, dark marks along his hip. “ _God_. Humans are monsters.”

A strained scoff escaped from Miller’s throat. “Tell me about it.” Jackson started to treat the wound when he was interrupted by a stern, “Wait, I’m fine. You should go treat the others. Harper, Raven – they all have it worse than me.”

“Miller,” Jackson said. “My job is to help everyone. That includes you.”

The boy never replied, so Jackson just proceeded to tend to his wounds. Miller winced at the contact, and Jackson suddenly wondered if they were even given anesthesia before having the procedures done on them. He didn’t ask; part of him didn’t want to know the answer.

A tense silence filled the air as more patients get wheeled inside the tent. Save for soft whimpers of the victims, everything was ghost quiet.

“Hey, Jackson?”

Jackson looked up from his work, eyes trained on the back of Miller’s head. “Hm?” he hummed.

“I’m glad you made it here.”

The doctor stopped in the middle of rubbing antiseptic along Miller’s wounds, a rush of heat rising to his cheeks. Miller turned his head slightly, meeting Jackson’s eyes. He could only give him a small smile, hoping it didn’t betray the unnatural swelling on his chest.

“I’m glad you’re not dead, too,” he replied softly. Miller nodded and turned away again. For a second, Jackson almost considered telling him about how he’d wondered if he was part of the hundred all those months ago. But he didn’t. Instead, he finished wrapping Miller up, punctuating his work with a resounding ‘done.’

Miller tried to push himself up with his elbows, wincing at the pain he was in. Jackson had his hands on his shoulders, gently prying him to an upwards position.

“Sorry, but we don’t have anything for the pain,” the doctor explained. “You just have to ride it out and avoid contact with your lower back.”

Miller nodded, pursing his lips. He started to stand up, Jackson steadying him on his arms.

“Thanks again, doc,” the man said, almost a whisper as he gritted through his teeth. “Hopefully our next meeting won’t be so uneventful.” Miller joked, a flash of that same smirk on his face.

Jackson just smiled back. “Yeah. Try not to steal from us next time.”

Miller snorted, already on his way out the tent. “Can’t keep promises like that, doc.” Before he disappeared outside, he turned his head and winked at Jackson. “See ya around, Jackson.” 

And with that, he left, leaving Jackson inside the tent like a grinning fool. Later that day, Abby asked him why he looked so happy, and when he responded with a small ‘nothing,’ his mentor only shot him a knowing smirk.

**iii. becca’s mansion**

Jackson recovered from his small crush pretty quickly after that. Between treating an array of wounded patients and trying to stay alive amidst their impossible situation, he never had time to spend on himself. Much less a relationship with anyone else. And so, he buried himself in his work and accepted the fact that his life had become an endless string of almost deaths, from the whole A.L.I.E. debacle, to present time, as he learns that in just six months, humanity will cease to exist.

The journey towards Becca’s lab was uneventful, to say the least. The ride around the Dead Zone was long, and he’s never been a fan of boats, despite only having ridden one for the first time. Don’t get him started on the deadly drones that attacked them the moment they crossed the boundary. Jackson had cowered behind Abby, grabbing her arm in an attempt to avoid instant death.

He wasn’t lucky for long, however. When he and Miller separated from the group, Jackson couldn’t help but almost touch the man’s arm as he did with Abby. However, some part of him hesitated. And so, he opted for grabbing the air around Miller instead, following him as they snuck through the greenery.

Just as he thought they’d lost the killer drone, Jackson spotted one hovering towards them with lightning speed. Without thinking, he yelled, “Look out!” before shoving Miller away.

There was a sudden flash of pain on his left arm, burning. Jackson stumbled over towards the ground, Miller suddenly beside him. _“Jackson!”_

Their eyes stopped to his arm, his jacket now soaked with deep red blood. Before he could even panic, the drones shot at them again. Quickly, Miller grabbed Jackson’s good arm over his shoulder, hauling him up as they ran across the trees. A hail of bullets rained down on them, Jackson bracing himself for a death that was about to come.

Fortunately, they’d found a roof of cement to hide under, and suddenly the pain on his arm grew worse. Jackson hissed, grabbing at the wound weakly, pressing harder. Miller looked at him in disbelief, and after a split second, shoved Jackson’s bloody hand out of the way and started pressing on the doctor’s wound himself.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Miller scolded after calling to the others for help.

Jackson continued to writhe. “W–What?” he said between his teeth.

“You shoving me out of the way got you _shot_ , Jackson.” Miller looked up at him with his big brown eyes, worry evident on his expression. It was as if he’d been transported back to the night they met, a younger Miller pressing him against the wall threateningly. 

“It’s just a scratch,” Jackson reassured, mostly to himself. He must have looked pathetic since Miller didn’t press the issue any further.

Somehow, amidst the crossfire, the drones suddenly dropped. And immediately, Abby was on his side, treating the bullet wound with an antiseptic and wrapping it in a clean bandage. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed him and left no serious injury. Still, it was the first time he’d ever been shot, and he hoped it would be the last.

Miller remained by his side as they all continued their trek towards the laboratory. He’d offered to carry Jackson’s bags, but the doctor didn’t want to seem weak. Most of the people with them – including Miller – had suffered worse injuries. Jackson wasn’t about to let anybody pity him for a bullet that barely grazed him.

Later that night, after they’d toured Becca’s state-of-the-art lab (that made Jackson think he was maybe in geek heaven), the crew retreated towards the mansion to settle in for the night. There were enough rooms in the house for all of them, so Jackson had a bedroom all to himself. It was the largest, most beautiful bedroom he’d ever been in. The walls were white and clean, a large mirror and a full closet standing opposite the _enormous_ bed. He’s never seen so many pillows and blankets in one place.

After taking a much-needed hot shower, Jackson sank into the bed, welcoming the comforting embrace of the sheets. Before he could lull himself to sleep, there was a soft knock on the door. Annoyed, he walked over barefoot towards the door, swinging it open. When he saw who was there, however, all traces of annoyance suddenly vanished.

“Hey, Jackson.” Miller said. He looked like he’d made use of the shower too, his face not covered in grime, and his clothes clean and crisp. Jackson can’t help but notice how good he looked in a fitted green sweater and sweatpants.

“Hey,” Jackson replied. “Does Abby need me?”

Miller shook his head. “No, I just wanted to check on you.” His eyes landed on the bandage wrapped around Jackson’s arm, peaking out of the grey t-shirt he was wearing. The doctor unconsciously ran a hand through his bare arm.

“It’s nothing, Miller,” he said. “All in a day’s work, I suppose.”

Miller snorted. “You know, you gotta stop saving my life. It’ll get you killed.”

A look of genuine confusion flashed across Jackson’s face.

“You shouldn’t have taken that bullet for me, but..” Miller looked up at Jackson through his thick eyelashes. The doctor could feel the heat rising to his head. “I appreciate it. Just… next time, let me save _you,_ for once. I owe you, okay? I owe you a lot.” Jackson could only stare at him in bewilderment, his chest almost bursting with affection.

_So much for recovering from my small crush._

Just as Miller started to turn around, Jackson impulsively grabbed his hand. _“Hey,”_ he said. Miller looked at him and Jackson resisted the urge to kiss him right then and there. He let go of his hand and swallowed. “You don’t owe me anything. But I… I do need saving.” He looked down at his feet before continuing, “I don’t want to be alone tonight, the bed is too big for me, and I–“

Jackson was silenced by a soft kiss on the lips, Miller’s hand gently on the back of his neck.

“Okay,” Miller breathed against him, smirking against Jackson’s lips, already slowly pushing the both of them into the room. “Let me keep you company.”

**iv. the bunker**

It’s been over a week since they’d been on the bunker, and it’s already starting to take a toll on most of its inhabitants. Grounders and Skaikru alike have grown restless in the cramped place, picking fights over rations and shared spaces. Being one of the only two traditional doctors in the entire human race was stressing Jackson out, as well. He has spent more time in Medical than in his own bunk bed, even opting to pass out at one of the hospital beds during hectic nights.

Jackson doesn’t know how he’d survive living underground for five years, but he has to.

It was at an ungodly hour when the hustle and bustle of the Medical Ward started to die down. There were patients resting on some of the beds, and even Abby had gone out to find Kane. The clock above the front door said it was 3 in the morning, but honestly, Jackson lost all sense of time three days ago.

He plopped down on one of the chairs, rubbing his throbbing temples.

Praimfaya may have never killed them, but being in this hellhole might.

There was a knock on the metallic door, and immediately Jackson looked up to find Miller entering the room, donning his guard’s uniform and looking absolutely forlorn. The doctor shot up from his seat and met the man halfway, sliding careful hands on both sides of his face.

“Nate,” Jackson whispered. “You alright?”

Miller looked at him with glassy eyes, his hands gripping on Jackson’s arms. “I miss him, Jax.”

Jackson instantly enveloped the younger man in a warm embrace, Miller’s face buried on the nape of the other’s neck. Weak arms embraced him back. “It should’ve been me out there, not him.” His voice was almost too low to hear, but Jackson heard him well. “It should’ve been me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jackson whispered. “Your father loved you so much, Nate. He made his choice, and he chose to let you _live._ You _deserve_ to live.”

(A few hours before the Final Judgment a week ago, before their people found out ¾ of them had to die, Sgt. Miller found Jackson at Medical, doing an inventory of their supplies. He’d asked about him and his son, and Jackson, ears and cheeks firing red, tried to deny anything going on between them. At that time, Jackson and Nathan had only been intimate a couple of times, not talking about exactly _where_ they stood. But Sgt. Miller just put a warm hand on the doctor’s shoulder, smiling, and said, ‘Take care of my son, Dr. Jackson. He doesn’t feel like it, but he deserves to live.’

Jackson was never one for breaking promises.)

After a moment, they let go. Jackson’s hands slithered to Miller’s, leading him towards one of the empty beds. Miller climbed on top, still quiet and eyes red, Jackson following behind him. Jackson pressed himself into Miller, arms cradling him as he pressed his forehead to the back of Miller’s head.

“Jax?” a soft voice came.

“Yes, Nate?”

Miller took his hand and pressed it to his chest. “Thank you. Dad would’ve loved you.”

Jackson smiled, pressing a kiss on his lover’s neck. “Goodnight, Nate.”

**v. desert tent**

When he was on the Second Dawn Bunker, he’d imagined going back up the ground would be a euphoric experience. And although, for a small part, it was, Jackson still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling on his gut as he ascended through a rope. Days later he came to realize how right he was to feel uncomfortable.

 ~~Octavia~~ Blodreina had ordered her people to march towards the enemy, sending them to war after Bellamy and the others had tried to convince her not to. Their battle had also come down to Bellamy poisoning his own sister, something Jackson never thought he’d do.

Bitterly, he thought, _War changes people._

Jackson, always the pacifist, never liked the idea anyway. But what else could he do? _There is only Wonkru, and the enemy of Wonkru._ His mind continued to chant as he walked along the sandy desert with the rest of his people.

His gaze landed on Miller, striding towards the front with Blodreina, firmly on her side.

He didn’t like how war changed Nate, too. But Jackson knew his lover’s sense of obligation stemmed further than just ‘following orders.’ Miller was loyal and steadfast and strong. And that’s why Jackson loved him, and will continue to love him.

He just wished Miller didn’t have the tendency to run into a burning building for his cause.

They’d set up camp a few ways away from the valley, his and Miller’s tent just beside the makeshift Medical Bay. There was sand all over the place – in the sleeping bags and on their clothes, and throughout the entire night, Jackson had itched for a nice hot shower. Bad enough that momentarily he craved to be back on Becca’s immaculate mansion, just before the radiation hit.

Sometime during the night, as he was shifting in his sheets, Jackson heard the tent’s flaps move. He turned to find Miller staggering inside, slowly taking off his jacket before lying down next to him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jackson whispered.

Miller pressed his forehead on the other’s. “We have no choice.”

“We always do.”

Instead of responding, Miller closed the small gap between them and captured Jackson’s lips. The other man responded with the same intensity, hand grabbing the back of his lover’s head, pulling him closer. There was an unspoken sense of urgency with their touches, as if this was their last night together. Jackson only kissed him harder, pushing that thought to the back of his mind.

Moaning, Miller climbed on top of Jackson, pausing for a moment to throw his shirt over his head.

“When was the last time we did this?” Jackson asked, breathless at the sight of Miller’s bare chest.

“Too long,” the younger man grinned, biting playfully at Jackson’s neck. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Miller’s breath was hot against his skin. “I have my orders. Now shut up and let me touch you.”

That night, as they made love, the war was long forgotten. They shared kisses and intimate touches, pulled themselves deeper into each other. It was sweaty and desperate and littered with sand, but all that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were together – alive and _real._ As he fell asleep on his lover’s chest, Jackson only wished they could share more moments like this after tomorrow.

And tomorrow came sooner than Jackson had hoped. When he woke, the sun was already starting to rise. The space beside him was empty, the warmth of Miller’s embrace long gone.

Quickly, Jackson threw on his sandy clothes, ignoring the discomfort on his skin. He emerged from the tent and found the sky bleeding orange, a warm glow blanketing their camp as warriors started to gather in the free space. Even from afar, he spotted Miller standing on top of a crate, shouting orders from the top of his lungs. They’d caught eyes before Jackson was whisked away by his own work, Niylah right behind him.

Soon, the battle came, and large numbers of wounded started being carried into the camp.

He flew from one patient to the next, rapidly tending to each patient before jumping onto the next one. At that time, it seemed as if the bodies never stopped coming. Many were already lost causes, and his heart ached everytime he felt someone’s pulse halt to a stop.

Last night had felt like a distant memory.

Jackson was bandaging a gunshot wound of one of their new arrivals when he heard something that made his blood curl:

“ _Miller! You’re hit!”_ followed by a loud grunt of someone achingly familiar.

It didn’t take long for Jackson to take his place at his lover’s side, the man carrying an injured warrior over his shoulder. He took one look at Miller’s side and found deep crimson blood soaking his clothes.

“ _Nate,”_ Jackson pleaded, holding Miller as the other tried to convince the others to fight. “Nate, you’re bleeding.”

His words were only ignored, Miller’s sense of duty overriding his sense of survival. “We could still win!” Miller yelled. The warrior weakly took two steps towards his soldiers, and the only thing Jackson could do was wrap a protective arm around him and try to stop him from falling. “ _We could still win!_ We could still–“

Miller staggered back into Jackson’s arms, with Niylah and the others helping him down to the ground. Panicked, Jackson asked for supplies to help Miller, but Niylah gave him a look of defeat.

“We’re out.”

“Of _what?_ ”

“Of everything.”

He didn’t have time to be worried. He didn’t have time to think about the worst case scenario. Nate wasn’t going to die in his arms, _goddamn it._ Jackson wasn’t going to let another person – a person he _loves_ – die at his hands.

With newfound determination, Jackson climbed over Miller and pressed on the side of his body that was hit. Niylah took off his armor, leaving only the tattered dark grey sweater he was wearing the night before. He lifted the shirt and assessed the damage.

“The bullet went in and out your side, but it didn’t hit any vital organs,” he said in quick breaths. Jackson grabbed the bandages Niylah had offered him and quickly wrapped it around Miller’s body. Miller winced, face contorting in pain.

“Hey, baby,” Jackson cooed, leaning close to Miller’s face as Niylah tied the bandage. “Look at me.”

He was met with Miller’s big brown eyes. He looked so scared.

“I’m not losing you, okay?” he whispered, placing a bloodied hand on his lover’s cheek. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

Miller leaned into his palm, closing his eyes gingerly and covering it with his own hand. “Here you go again, saving my life,” he joked, voice raspy.

Jackson only smiled at him. “Always.”

**+1. farmhouse**

Sometimes saving the world meant losing people you love in the process.

They’d all learned that the hard way. And to most of them, dealing with grief meant hurting more people along the way. It was unfair, but it was what had happened to even the best of them. Bellamy, Clarke, Octavia – they’d all done things for the people they loved that weren’t aligned with the greater good.

Miller never blamed them. Hell, he’s done things he wasn’t proud of during grief himself.

But Jackson was different. Jackson was _good._

And Miller would be damned if he let the world corrupt the man he loved.

Said man was leaning against the open window of their room at the farmhouse. It was small yet cozy; charming. Miller was sitting at the foot of the bed, removing his shoes after a long day of saving the world… for the (insert ungodly number here) time. His eyes fixated on Jackson’s back – tense and rigid under the fabric of his shirt.

They all felt for Dr. Griffin’s passing. She and Miller were never really close, but he adored her all the same. His heart had fallen at the news of her death, utterly angry at the stupid Primes and this shitty, shitty planet. If he could kill Russell himself, he would. But Clarke had given him other orders; orders that let him live instead of dying like he deserved.

Jackson had been quiet the whole time after the incident. Miller had held his arm gently as they walked into the farmhouse and found their bedrooms. The man had taken Abby’s death hard. Miller couldn’t blame him.

After Mary passed and Jackson found his calling, Abby was the one who took him under her wing, teaching him all that he knew about medicine. She was there throughout his novice years and until he became the amazing, competent doctor that he is now. Miller knew she wasn’t just a mentor to him. She was a friend, a confidant, a second mother. He was right to be upset as he was, but Miller hated seeing him like that.

He stood from the bed and walked over to him, placing a comforting hand at his back. “Jax.” When he wasn’t met with a reply, he took the other’s chin, tilting it slightly so he could peer into his partner’s eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I couldn’t do anything for her,” Jackson whimpered. His eyes were red and bloodshot. Broken. “I couldn’t do anything for _anyone._ I never _do_ anything, and now A–“ He took a painful breath. “Now Abby’s dead.” He swallowed a lump on his throat.

Miller immediately scooped him up into his arms, holding the back of Jackson’s head gingerly as the other man buried his face on Miller’s shoulder. He could feel Jackson’s body shuddering as he cried into Miller’s shirt, arms wrapped tight on his back.

“Jax, her death isn’t on you,” Miller whispered into Jackson’s hair. “You did _everything_ you could.”

“It wasn’t enough,” came the muffled response. “My best isn’t enough, and it never has been.”

Heart heavy, Miller pulled away and cupped Jackson’s face in his hands. He looked the worst he’s ever been, with deep dark circles under eyes that had lost all its shine. This war isn't takingEric Jackson, not if Miller had anything to do with it.

“Hey. _Hey. Listen to me._ ” Miller softly said, wiping tears out of Jackson’s cheeks with his thumb. “You’re the reason why most of us here are alive, Eric. For years, you’ve tended our wounds and healed us with nothing but your gentle touch and big-ass brain.” That earned him a small chuckle, in which he returned a smile. “You saved us, Jax. You saved _me._ ”

Jackson blinked, hands on Miller’s forearms. He continued, “You were there for me on the Ark. At Arkadia. At the bunker. Hell, you got shot at Becca’s island because of me… And you’re here for me _now_ , in this dumb planet over a hundred years later.

“Jackson, I would’ve died if it weren’t for you.” The warm orange light from the ceiling was casting shadows across Jackson’s face. His eyes had gone big, the life on his browns finally returning. Miller smiled softly.

Jackson was never really good with words, Miller knows that. Because Jackson doesn’t say a thing. Instead, he closes the gap between them and captures Miller’s lips in a passionate kiss, strong arms falling to his hips. Moments later, they pulled away, gasping for breath. But their hands hadn’t stopped touching each other, holding on as if holding on to dear life.

Because they were.

“I love you. You know that, right?” Jackson whispered.

“ _Duh,_ ” Miller grinned, and his lover laughed, his face suddenly resembling the warmth of the sun. “I love you too, Jax. I always will.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me at my art acc (twitter and ig): @hanzios for more mackson content!


End file.
